


A Slip of Silk

by BootsnBlossoms



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sensual Undressing, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/pseuds/BootsnBlossoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretending to be girlfriends with Lydia for a few days during a conference was a little harder than Cora had thought it would be... but not for the reasons she'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slip of Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> My entry for the [Teen Wolf Femslash Exchange](teenwolffemslashexchange.tumblr.com) for the lovely [halesburned](http://halesburned.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Many thanks and love to the fabulous Root Cellar crowd for the cheering, the betaing, the herculean effort at keeping me on task. Ara, Alya, Diz, FDG, Fragile, Gala, Hedwig, Lady, Mara, Monster, Riffin, Rose... you guys are amazing and I couldn't have done this without you. Special snugglehugs to [KissofFlame](http://kissofflame.tumblr.com/), who keeps me together and grounded when I'm freaking out about deadlines (which, less face it, was _all the freakin' time_ this year).

Fifteen more feet. That’s all that was left. It was a short enough distance from the elevator to their hotel room door that Cora could easily jump it if she really wanted to, but despite the tension singing along her veins, there was no reason for such dramatics. Next to her, Lydia was practically shaking with anger, but she could make it, Cora was sure.

Just ten more feet now.

“I can’t believe she said that,” Lydia hissed, her perfectly-manicured fingers sinking so deeply into her own crossed arms that Cora was surprised they hadn’t broken the skin yet. Her nose twitched at the smell of hot blood running fierce and fast under Lydia’s skin, and Cora felt her own primal instinct rise to the occasion. Like all Hales, when it came to fight or flight, Cora’s instinct was heavily weighted towards fight. Right now, with Lydia angry and scared and exhausted and smelling like _hers_ right next to Cora, she was having a hell of a time not lashing out at whatever might be the source of her charge’s anxiety. “How could she say that?”

Five feet.

“She was well within her rights,” Cora shrugged, reaching out to grab Lydia’s elbow. The connection was soothing, reminding Cora that nothing was _actually_ wrong, and it grounded her. It was also a mark of how upset and distracted Lydia was that she didn’t shake Cora off. “They all knew that the Hale/McCall pack was sending a banshee, but none of them _knew_. They don’t like not being the top of the food chain, and you didn’t make it any better by telling her where to shove it.”

Lydia grinned, as Cora knew she would. “Among other things.”

Cora nodded and drew the room’s keycard out of her pocket. She waited impatiently while Lydia leaned down to break the mountain ash and mistletoe line they’d hidden just under the doorjamb, then swiped to unlock the door and let them in. She crossed the entryway, reflexively scenting the air to ensure that no one had entered their room, and Lydia waited in the hall while Cora cleared the tiny space they’d claimed as their own for the weekend. Once she was satisfied that there were no intruders waiting to jump them, she gave Lydia a small nod and ignored the itch of _trapped_ under her skin when Lydia closed the mountain ash line behind them.

“You’re so paranoid,” Lydia huffed while Cora checked the line on the window sill.

“Pot, kettle,” Cora mumbled. She frowned at their view — the dirty roof of the neighboring hotel — and tried to relax her shoulders. They’d only been here for barely twenty four hours and she was already more than ready to leave. “Why the hell is a werewolf territory negotiation conference in the middle of a city populated by three million? I hate it here. All cement and carefully maintained flowering trees… no fresh air, no grass. Are they _trying_ to set each other on edge and make this more difficult?”

Somewhere behind Cora, Lydia grunted. It was so completely out of character that Cora turned in surprise, only to find Lydia sprawled face first on the bed. Every bit of regal determination and fiery challenge she’d been projecting in her posture and expression had slipped away, and Cora felt something within her give a painful tug as she watched Lydia unfurl like a dish towel that had been wrung too tightly.

“You okay?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed tentatively.

Lydia turned her head to the side, eyes still closed, and snorted. “Why do you care?”

“That’s not fair,” Cora objected, stung.

“I’m at a werewolf territory convention, where my pack’s lives depend on my ability to ensure that everyone here knows how badass and powerful we are, despite our inexperienced, hodgepodge makeup,” Lydia huffed. “And, oh yeah, I’m not even a werewolf, but as the only remotely qualified woman in our rag-tag ensemble, I have to be here because, hey, matriarchy! Girls only! Lady power!” Lydia shook her head, her red hair fanning out in sharp contrast to the white sheets under her. “Which _also_ means that I have to pretend to be the partner of the only remaining female wolf-born Hale in the world in order to have any authority to speak whatsoever. I can’t decide if that makes werewolf powers-that-be progressive or backwards as fuck.”

“Both?” Cora offered, not even thinking as she reached out to tuck a stray bit of Lydia’s hair behind her ear.

“Both is good,” Lydia muttered sleepily.

“I’m sorry,” Cora sighed. She _wanted_ to feel guilty about abandoning Derek, about putting such a heavy weight on Lydia’s shoulders, but she just couldn’t. Beacon Hills was her personal hell and she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but glad she’d left. She wasn’t sorry, not really, and from the way Lydia cracked open her eyes to glare at her, Lydia knew it.

“Don’t,” Lydia bit out. She took a deep breath, an obvious conscious effort to calm herself, and let it out after three steady heartbeats. “You’re here being useful now. Don’t stop being useful, and we won’t have a problem. I have absolutely no patience for Hale guilt complexes tonight.”

“I didn’t say I felt guilty,” Cora shrugged. “Just that I feel sorry for you having to put up with all this shit, this pretending, when you’re not even a wolf.”

“Go to hell, Hale,” Lydia snapped, but the words lacked heat. She rolled onto her back and lifted her leg to reach for her shoes — a pair of four-inch heeled boots that had Cora wincing sympathetically all day — clearly ready to be rid of them. But Cora reached out and grabbed Lydia’s ankle, surprising both of them, and Lydia stilled, eyebrows high and expression incredulous.

“We, uh…” Cora started, hand tightening on Lydia to keep her from pulling away. “We’re supposed to be lovers and we don’t smell like each other.”

Lydia clearly wasn’t buying the flimsy excuse, but it was the best Cora could do. And it wasn’t entirely inaccurate — wolves did notice and wonder when supposed couples didn’t smell like they spent time together. The truth, however, was that Lydia and Cora did smell enough like each other (thank you, twelve hour car trip from where they’d met up in Sacramento) that no one would question them, and, in fact, most modern werewolves understood better than anyone that couples didn’t need to swap bodily fluids in order to be partners. It wasn’t uncommon for some wolves, especially turned wolves, to only occasionally engage in sex or even forgo sex altogether. But touching remained an important part of werewolf relationships.

Even faking a relationship for the benefit of the negotiations, Cora felt the need like an ache in her fingers and lips.

Lydia’s mouth parted slightly as Cora slid her hands down the soft suede of her boots, but then, mercifully, she seemed to decide to let it go. Cora hid a sigh of relief and scooted closer, settling on her knees at Lydia’s feet. She wrapped her hands around the sole of the right boot and tugged, the mattress creaking under her as she moved. The boots were knee high — an unusual choice for Lydia, but one Cora could appreciate — and Cora pulled slowly enough that Lydia shivered at the leather caress against her calf. Once it was off, Cora leaned over and set it on floor, sure that Lydia would object if she just tossed it. Then she repeated the process with the other boot.

The tang of sweat and suede filled the air around her bed, and Lydia shuddered as Cora wrapped her hand around her nylon-covered arch. “What are you doing?”

“Your feet have to be killing you.”

“For someone my height, even just four inches makes a difference,” Lydia replied, trying to sound dismissive but only succeeding in sounding breathless.

“Worth it?” Cora asked curiously.

“Two inches shorter and I wouldn’t have been eye-level when I told Sienna to fuck off for suggesting that I was a necromancer.”

“True,” Cora smirked. “Though, of course, technically you are.”

“ _Technically_ ,” Lydia pointed out, “Peter is the necromancer, not me.”

Cora dug her fingers into Lydia’s arch in a less-than-gentle attempt to get rid of the knots she felt there, and Lydia yelped and yanked her foot away.

“Easy, Hale!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Cora said, firmly pulling Lydia’s foot back. She smirked. “I’m your partner, remember? You need to let me.”

“Actually, I don’t,” Lydia argued, but she didn’t pull away again. Cora massaged her foot, toe to heel, and watched with a gleeful satisfaction as Lydia relaxed by degrees. Lydia didn’t protest when she moved to the other one, eyes growing heavy with pleasure.

When she was done, Cora shuffled up the mattress to kneel near Lydia’s waist. Lydia, who hadn’t cracked her eyes open again when Cora had moved, jerked in surprise when Cora tugged at the top button of her cardigan.

“Cora — “ she started, staring up in shock.

Cora felt her eyes burning with the warm yellow of her shift as she stared down at Lydia. “You’re taking care of everyone else, Lydia,” she said quietly, hands inches above Lydia’s body. “Let me take care of you.”

Lydia didn’t move, but it wasn’t stiff defiance. She didn’t blink, she didn’t breathe, she didn’t protest. She was stillness and contemplation, and Cora took advantage of the moment to sway her. She knelt further down over Lydia and tucked her fingers under the the collar of her shirt, rubbing a thumb in the hot space between the soft silken warmth of her blouse and the sweat-slick, overheated expanse of skin. A shiver, barely felt even by Cora’s inquisitive hands, ran up Lydia’s body, and she carefully measured out an exhale.

“This isn’t some absurd, unnecessary way of saying thank you for saving your brother, is it?”

“No,” Cora replied immediately, shaking her head. “You’re not subjecting yourself to these idiots for Derek. You’re doing it for Scott, Stiles, Kira, and the others. I’m glad Derek benefits from what you’re doing, but this…” Cora swallowed and twisted the tiny pearl button in her hand. “This has nothing to do with him.”

Lydia started up at Cora, eyes narrowed in thought as she made her decision. “Then why?”

Cora brushed a thumb over Lydia’s mouth, the gesture so light Lydia probably barely felt it. “Why not?”

Lydia’s eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded. “All right.”

Relief rushed through Cora’s body and she smiled to herself. She knew all the signs of being touch-starved, and Lydia had been displaying every single one of them. Cora was looking forward to being the one to end that streak.

The pearl buttons of Lydia’s cardigan were easy to slip free of their cashmere confines, and Cora grinned when she parted the front of the pink sweater to reveal the red silk underneath. She ran her hands down Lydia’s sides, caressing her with light but determined touches, stroking around the outer edges of Lydia’s bra and down along her ribs. Lydia shivered, and Cora pressed a kiss low on her stomach, just above her pelvis.

“Careful,” Lydia whispered, lips dry from the open-mouthed breathing she’d been trying to keep silent. “Don’t stain the silk.”

Cora laughed and tucked her hands under Lydia’s body, using her supernatural strength to pull Lydia into a sensual arch, leaving her shoulders against the mattress and pulling her chest in the air. Lydia gasped, eyes still closed, red hair falling in waves of curls to the duvet, mouth red and open, as Cora divested her of the cardigan. Cora laid her gently back down on the mattress, then slid back down to the waistband of her skirt.

“Cora, I don’t think…”

“Shhhh,” Cora hummed, nuzzling at the waistband. “You’re too tired. I’m too tired. Just let me take care of you.”

Lydia swallowed and nodded, then threaded a hand through Cora’s hair. “Okay.”

Getting the rest of Lydia’s clothes off was easy enough now that Lydia was pliant with trust and expectation as Cora moved her to free pale skin from expensive cloth one piece at a time. The skirt slipped over Lydia’s nylons with the barest rustle of fabric in the otherwise silent room, and the slip followed just as easily. The arch of Lydia’s back as Cora pulled her up to free her from the silk shirt was truly a thing of beauty, and Cora couldn’t resist caressing Lydia’s bare neck with her lips. Lydia sighed, equal parts satisfaction and exhaustion, as Cora indulged in tasting Lydia’s overwarm skin. Lydia was completely relaxed, head hanging loose over the mattress, held up only buy Cora’s strong hands under her shoulderblades. It took a little bit of maneuvering to pull the shirt up and over with one hand, but then it was off and pooling in a shock of red on the floor. Cora ran a couple of fingers up Lydia’s chest, a long, hot line up her breastbone, before resting a couple of fingers over her pulse. Lydia’s relaxation wasn’t forced — her heartbeat was slow and steady and intoxicating under Cora’s hands.

Divesting Lydia of her bra was a little bit more tricky because even werewolf powers were no help with the tiny clasps she couldn’t see. Once the hooks were undone, Cora once again lowered Lydia to the mattress. First she slid the right strap free, dragging it slowly down Lydia’s arm and following the trail with lips just barely touching the skin. Once her arm was free, Lydia once again reached up to grab Cora by the hair, and Cora couldn’t help the jutter of her hips between Lydia’s legs.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Cora hissed, twisting her head the way Lydia pulled, baring her neck. It didn’t matter that Cora was on top, that she was fully dressed while Lydia was nearly naked, that Lydia was soft and pliant against Cora’s iron control, that Cora was stronger, faster. Lydia was the more powerful of the two, the dominant one, and Cora was helpless in her submission.

After a long, still moment, Lydia made a satisfied noise and parted her legs. She tugged Cora on top of her, aligning them from belly to ankle, and relaxed again. Cora stayed still, panting with a sudden surge of need — not for sex, but for validation. She wanted to do everything right, everything perfectly, everything that would make Lydia sigh in pleasure over and over and over again.

This time, when Cora freed the other bra strap, she could feel every tremor of Lydia’s pleasure underneath her. It was almost impossible to keep herself from grinding their hips together, arousal spiking in her body so quick she could barely catch her breath, but she’d made a promise. Tonight wasn’t about orgasms. It was about finding safety and comfort in each other while surrounded by people who wanted to see them fail.

Cora was reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of Lydia’s body to finish undressing her, and when she lifted herself on her forearms, she held still long enough to drink in Lydia’s utter surrender to their closeness. A soft smile played at the corner of her mouth, and her eyelids were dark and heavy, eyelashes resting heavily against her cheek.

Before removing them, Cora couldn’t resist running her fingers up and down the silken curve of Lydia’s knees.

“Lingeriie kink?” Lydia asked, smirking now.

“You have no idea,” Cora murmured. She settled her hands on the swell Lydia’s hips and dragged them down, teasing her hipbones with her thumbs, dragging her fingers over her thighs and under her knees, and tickling her calves grasping her feet. To her surprise, however, Lydia flinched, and Cora pressed her mouth apologetically to Lydia’s knee.

“My feet still hurt,” Lydia explained.

“I can fix that.”

Pulling pain from people wasn’t something Cora did often — especially after her brother’s sacrifice only months earlier — but this time she couldn’t help but shiver as she once again grasped Lydia’s feet. It took only moments, the massage and the pain relief washing over Lydia immediately, and Cora’s heart beat faster at the way Lydia sank into the mattress in complete relaxation. Cora took advantage of the moment to slip her hands under the elastic waist band of the nylons to pull them down and off. They landed, crumpled, in the corner of the room, and Lydia arched and stretched like a happy kitten.

Lydia’s black, cotton, lacy panties (they matched Lydia’s bra — _jesus_ — were the final bit of cloth between them. Cora settled back down between Lydia’s thighs and rested her head in the cradle of her hip. She reached up a played with a corner of the warm fabric, taking delight in the way Lydia shivered at the hot puffs of air Cora exhaled as she tried to calm herself.

“You are _so_ fucking hot,” Cora managed, closing her eyes and swallowing back her desire.

“We’re really going to have to explore this kink of yours more, aren’t we?” Lydia said with quiet amusement, stroking a hand through Cora’s hair. 

Cora knew that this was just a hookup. She knew that, after tomorrow — when they’d finally proved to the western werewolf packs at large that they were capable and deadly and willing to kill anyone who tried to take their territory from them — that she and Lydia would be parting ways. That Lydia would go back to MIT, that Cora would be going back to Brazil, that they’d probably very rarely see each other in the future. But that didn’t stop Cora from groaning and grinding her hips into the mattress at the thought of getting more freedom to explore and pleasure Lydia. 

“Yes,” Cora agreed, voice thick and low in the quiet of their room. She refused to feel guilty — she and Lydia were together _now_ , when they needed each other, and that’s all that mattered.

Careful not to scratch, Cora dug her fingers under the soft fabric of Lydia’s panties. She tugged slowly, reluctant for this to be over, baring Lydia’s skin one soft, slow inch at a time. She lifted her head only long enough to free Lydia from the cotton, then settled back down as she pushed the black fabric away. Lydia helpfully tightened her hand in Cora’s hair, holding her in place while she kicked the panties free.

“There is so much I want from you right now,” Lydia whispered. “But —”

“It’s okay,” Cora said. “I know.” She kicked her shoes off, letting them fall to the floor with a thunk, and wriggled away long enough to pull off her jeans and bra. She lifted Lydia to free the blanket out from under them, then pulled it up around them as she again curled around Lydia’s body. This time she settled her head on Lydia’s shoulder, wrapped her arms around Lydia’s stomach, and held her as close as possible without crushing her. Cora hadn’t felt this close to anyone in a long, long time. She was going to enjoy it, guilt free, while she could. “We have more time tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Lydia agreed, stroking Cora’s hair weakly, voice thick with sleep. “Tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave comments and kudos if you liked it - they make the rarepair and femslash writers' worlds go round;)
> 
> Fic previews, eye candy, prompt fills, and gpoy galore [on my Tumblr](http://bootsnblossoms.tumblr.com).


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